Musings
by kouw
Summary: Elsie's thoughts on her life with Charles. Experiment. No longer a one-shot. Reviews very much appreciated, as well as advice on how to proceed. First person POV from Elsie, Charles, Charlie. Others will be added as time goes by. All K .
1. Elsie

**A/N:** An experiment! Written from Elsie's POV, something i have never attempted before.  
Do you like it or not at all? Let me knooooow by clicking the review button belooooooow!

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We have been like this for such a long time, they don't see it. Sometimes we joke about it over leftover wine or steaming cups of cocoa. I tell you how nobody sees that you put your hand on my shoulder and that nobody saw the exasperated looks i gave you and we laugh a little and go on with our routine of discussing work to be done and the welfare of those in our charge.

Maybe they don't think of us 'together' because we don't share our last names, because I preferred to remain 'Hughes' under his Lordship's employment. Though in private, I am Elsie Carson - let there never be any mistake about that. Maybe they don't think us together because we don't share a bed - at least not so they see.

Very few people have seen my bedroom, but you see it nearly every night and have done for so long, we both start to forget how many years it has been since you kissed me in front of the administrator and carried me over the threshold. Beryl was a kitchenmaid and she never saw us, none of the others were employed yet. Everyone who knew about it is either dead or lives in the dower house.

Sometimes she says something in passing, and I feel her eyes boring into my back and I remember her remarks, her disagreements with her late husband, who couldn't care less if his valet was married to a housemaid. Lady Violet lashed out at him, saying that if children were added to their household, he would not be so happy about the arrangement.

Lady Violet needn't have worried.

I stare at your sock and I keep on stitching, every stitch as neat and perfect as the next. I have done this so many times, but never with the small white stockings of a child. I have come to terms with it, I have learned to live with the knowledge that I will leave nothing, that my legacy will be that of lessons learned by housemaids about how to keep your knees together and how to plump up cushions.

Sometimes I sigh with the guilt of not giving you at least a son to follow in your footsteps, but I am glad too, because he might have been called up for duty during the war and he might have died like William. Or caught the Spanish Flu and have perished at the fevers like Miss Swire. Having had a child and losing it must be far more terrible than to never have had a child in the first place.

You are reading Charles Dickens, your favourite. Sometimes I hear you chuckle and when you look up I smile at you and you smile back, just like at breakfast every morning. Maybe they all do see, but they are so used to it, our smiles, our arguments, the little touches of my hand on your sleeve, they don't feel the need to comment. Come your retirement, we will go away together and live in a small house with a garden. I think you might like to get your hands dirty. In a garden there is a time for everything: pruning and mowing and weeding. You likes rules and order. I like it when you are happy. We will be the same there, but with more time to ourselves.

I know at the moment you are happy. Lady Mary has accepted Mr Crawley's offer of marriage and I have no doubt you feel the way I did about Anna and Mr Bates getting married, even if I only learned it after the event. We have watched both girls grow and blossom. I didn't always understand what you saw in Lady Mary, what it was that triggered your loyalty, but I do now. When she gave Anna that locket, I knew the young lady had grown up, that she had learned compassion.

When she marries, we will sit at the back, next to each other and I know you will take my hand in yours and that when the vicar asks Mr Crawley the question, you will answer 'I do' in my ear - like you have done countless times before.

You snort with laughter again and I look at the clock. It is late and I put away my darning and stand before you. "Time for bed, Mr Carson." You get up and lead the way. I follow, like I always will, caring for you and loving you and seeing you for the man you truly are. We undress and wash and we get into bed and i feel your arm around me, like you have wrapped it around me countless times before and as I fall asleep i think:

"One day, people will know that under that strict butler exterior is a man of great gentleness and love and that I am the lucky one for being the one he chose to be with until death do us part."

In the morning we smile at each other at the breakfast table, passing toast and butter, I pour your tea and you spoon sugar in mine and nobody mentions anything. Maybe it is because we are constant, because we are predictable. Dependable, like Downton itself, the glue that hold everything downstairs together.

Maybe my legacy won't be so small after all.

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**A/N:** It's a bit wistful and not very upbeat, which i thought a nice change from the fluff.


	2. Charles

**A/N:** I got the question if i could do one from Charles' POV. Much, much harder. I have no idea of a man's mind's intricate workings. I did my best however and even though i am not sure how it turned out - i feel it is a bit too mirrored - here it is!  
As always: reviews much appreciated.

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I don't think they know how much you care for them and i know they don't think about how you love me. But I do. I see you go about your day, gracefully, purposefully and I catch you on your way to the kitchens, stealing a kiss or two. I haven't forgotten how we were way back when I was just a valet and you were head housemaid. When we did everything in our power to seek each other out.

I remember kissing you in the courtyard, much like Mr Bates and Anna used to do when they were courting. I remember trying to find excuses to have you with me on trips to the village, getting a new shoehorn or handkerchiefs. All I felt then, I feel now, but life has caught up with me, with the pair of us. We will never be who we were then again. We have lost so much, gained experience, grown accustomed to each other in so many ways that nobody notices us and who we are.

Sometimes at night, when I read the evening paper and you are stitching away at a sock or knit Charlie a new jumper, I steal a glance at you and I marvel at how a man like me ended up with a goddess like you. I know everyone thinks i am inflexible, rigid, strict, but you know me better. The real me. You know that if I don't build those walls higher and higher still, I will let everything get to me. Like when Downton had to do without footmen during the war and I got into a state.

I saw how the color drained from your face when I collapsed and how you took charge of the dining room after ascertaining I was being cared for. Even tied to my own bed, the bed I never use, I told you what to do and you looked down at me, your exasperation obvious, telling me you couldn't stand having Molesley help with the dinners. Your uncertain words of how he misused his authority over the wine made me laugh inside. It also made me wince a bit.

Unlike me, you show how you feel. You let people know they are cared for. I remember you consoling William when he was first with us. He was homesick and you understood, because you are far away from home too. Downton is our home now, has been for many years, but when i saw you holding Anna to your chest, i remembered how you asked me if i ever thought about having gone another way.

I am proud of what we have achieved at Downton Abbey. Our lives' work is massive. We have respected the house and everyone in it respects us. Except maybe for Lady Grantham. I have not forgotten how i danced with her at the Servants' Ball back in the day and she would whisper in my ear that she hoped I had the good sense not to father any children with you. I had to use all my resolve not to let go of her and just walk away. I almost handed in my notice at the spot.

Sometimes, in my dreams, I see the pair of us, young and strong, with a brood of dark haired and blue eyed children and I wake up, feeling very much how I have let you down. You have had only others to care for, no-one of your own. I haven't been able to give you a daughter and it stings when I see you with Anna sometimes, though i imagine it stings you when I speak of Lady Mary. Maybe this is why you aren't very fond of her.

You are darning my sock. You have done this countless times. It must be the stairs and standing around. You stitching is so neat and even. I remember how you used to talk about becoming a Ladies' Maid instead of a Housekeeper. I am glad you are Housekeeper though, it keeps you close to me. You know I would have followed you wherever you wanted to go. If you would have wanted to leave Downton for a different life, I would have done everything in my power to give you what you needed.

We are not old yet, if you want, we can still change. It will be strange though. Not having Mrs Patmore yell at Daisy, not having Miss O'Brien's deadpan remarks. Not having his Lordship's library from which he allows us to take what ever we like. At the moment I have taken out a Dickens. You know he is my favorite.

When I laugh I can feel your eyes upon me and you check the clock, like you always do and tell me it is time for bed. I go first and we go into your room and I watch you undress. You are so beautiful still. I follow your every move: how you take off your shoes first and place them under the chair, how you carefully place your dress over the back of that same chair. You take off your stockings, revealing your long, strong legs and you take off your corset, showing me your perfect soft roundness. You brush out your hair and braid it, like you have done for the past thirty odd years and you slip into bed, you back pressed against my chest and my nose almost touches your head.

We fit together perfectly.

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**A/N:** I am starting to see a series here... maybe one from Lady Violet's POV, or Anna's, or Mary's... anyone any suggestions? Or leave well enough alone?


	3. Charlie

**A/N:** I got three requests for Charlie, so I decided to write his POV first. I have a twenty-month-old at home and I think children, young children, know and see a lot more than we think they do. Still, if you feel this is way off base, please let me know.  
So, for the ones asking for little Charlie Parks: voila! (don't forget to review!)

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If he isn't here, he must be there.

He is more there anyway, because that is his place. Sometimes I have to make a really loud noise to make them notice me. They sit so close together, I can't get in between and they laugh when I try. Then she settles me against her, she is nice and warm and softer than Mum and calmer too and he reads me stories. I don't always understand them. Maybe he doesn't understand I am still little. But it is better than Thomas pushing me aside when he rushes off with the fire stick in his mouth.

She always knows exactly what I want. When I am hungry or need to be changed or when I get tired. She sings to me and when she does, he stares at her. He looks a bit sad, but he smiles when she reaches for his hand. They hold hands a lot. They are quiet a lot. When I play with my car on the floor, I make a track from his feet to hers and he reads and she pricks a needle in his sock and they hardly talk at all.

He reads bits to her and she laughs or says something and it feels really warm in the room. Sometimes, when I get tired, I climb on his knees and I hear this thunking noise and I fall asleep. Usually I wake up in my cot, but once I woke up on top of him and we were all on the settee. I heard them talk about something they called 'guilt'. I don't know what it means, but it must be something very sad, because she was crying and he held his arm around her and kissed her hair.

He does that a lot, kissing her. She kisses him back all the time too. She kisses me too, but not like him. Their lips touch and their eyes close. I don't think they know I see them. It's a bit strange, I don't see anyone else kiss like that, except sometimes Anna and Mr Bates, but that is not the same. They don't belong with me.

When I go around the rooms to find my Mum, I see her at work. She speaks differently to the maids than she does to me or to him. The maids always do what she says, even Mum. Most of what is said, sounds short, but one time there was this maid who was crying and she put her arms around her, just like she does when I cry. It feels really nice when she does that. She only does it with him normally and he doesn't even have to cry.

The men listen to him, because he is so big. I have to put my head in my neck to look at him when he stands. If he tells me to do something, I do it too. He can be a bit scary, but she doesn't think he is. She lays her arms around his neck and she stands on her toes to put her lips against his. He puts his arms around her waist and they look as if they forget everything around them. I make a noise to let them know I am still there and I pull on his trousers. I don't like to be left alone. He picks me up then and they resume their kissing.

She lets go of his neck and she puts her arm around me and I lean against her. They whisper to each other, words that have little meaning to me, about children and about growing up. She calls him 'Grampa', I think it is his name. He calls her 'Granma'. So I call them that. They call me Charlie, like Mum, because it is my name. If I wouldn't call them by their names, would they still look down to find me?

After we all eat, he sits at the end of the table and she sits next to him, Mum and I usually go home, unless it is a very busy night. I don't really like going home. Our house is cold and there are always things hanging from the line that scare me in the night. Mum cries a lot, but she doesn't have anyone but me to hold her. She puts me in my cot, I can't get out, so I can't reach her. I feel really bad for her, I am glad she helps us out. I think Mum is grateful too. She never says it though.

He talks about Mum when it is late and they think I am asleep. That he will never understand how she could do what she did. She says she can. He pulls a face and she smiles this half smile. He says they will never see eye to eye on it and she agrees and she points at my cot and I quickly close my eyes, pretending to be asleep. She asks if he would want to do without and I think she means me. He always says 'no'. Always. I think he must like me. At least a bit.

She visited us when I was really little and she would bring food with her for Mum. She would get me from my cot and she would cuddle me and hum and when Mum cried, she handed me back and she tidied our rooms. I always feel a lot safer when she is around. I think she was the first someone I ever saw who was not my Mum.

I know she is upstairs now, because there was a bell and he told her it was Her Ladyship who wanted to discuss something. I don't know what 'discussing' is. He uses difficult words a lot. She doesn't. I know she has left me a biscuit, because she told me that if I was a good boy and didn't get in the way, I would get a treat. But I want my treat now. I have been very good all day. I push open the door of her room and he is sitting there. He has something in his hand.

He tells me it is a special day and that he has a gift and that it is not for me, but for her. I like it when he does something nice for her, because it makes her so happy. I find my toys and I play on the carpet, building a tower. He helps me, he is much better at it than I am, but he lets me do most of the work anyway. When she finally comes, I push the tower over and turn around to look at them.

She takes the package from him and carefully removes the ribbon and gives it to me. It is pretty and red and it feels funny. She unwraps the paper and there is a little box that she opens and I can hear her gasp. It must be very nice if she does that. Then she takes it and hands it to him and he put it around her neck. He takes her hands and kisses them and he congratulates her. She wraps herself around him and she kisses him so hard, it looks almost painful.

Someone knocks on the door and they spring apart, she takes the thing he put around her neck and slides it under her dress. She traces her thumb across her lips and looks around the room before she says 'enter'.

It's Mum. I have to go home. I don't want to, I want to stay, I feel safe here and I want to cry, but I don't. I am a big boy. She helps me in my coat and they walk us to the backdoor. Mum puts me in the basket on the bicycle and rides away. I see them standing in the doorway, his arm around her waist and her head on his shoulder. I wave, but it is dark and they don't see me. I am glad I will be back tomorrow. Maybe she will have saved that biscuit for me. I really like biscuits.

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**A/N:** I know it is a bit long, but still - I hope you liked it. Next up: Isobel Crawley - soon.


	4. Isobel

**A/N:** Isobel's POV, dedicated to Godmother Batwings.  
Perhaps I have gone overboard a bit, but I found it hard to tone her down - perhaps series 2 gets in the way. My heart breaks every time I see Isobel on screen. Lets hope she will get a better deal in series 3.  
As always (does one keep asking? i wonder) reviews terribly appreciated!

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Drinks are being passed around by footmen, maids clear side tables. A hallboy is being shooed out by Anna and the new girl. A glass falls and Mrs Hughes rushes in, being efficient and quick, mopping up the mess and she turns to find him right beside her. He snaps at her, she looks so hurt when he turns his back and stalks off. Like he has hit her. Her shoulders slump, she purses her lips and then she straightens up and goes back to the business at hand.

When he returns with more champagne, pops the corks and fills more glasses, her eyes follow his every move. He hands out the trays and he goes about the room, never interrupting but making his presence known. He stays close to Cora and Robert and then finds himself close to her and he puts his hand on her shoulder and whispers something in her ear. She nods and gives him a quick, shy smile. He smiles back and they go back to work.

I remember when he collapsed and we were all standing around him, we were not surprised to find her rushing in and taking over. I didn't think it strange her eyes coming back to land on him and I didn't think any of it that her face was drained of color as she told Mr Lang to mop up the mess and Anna to serve the wine. She found me after dinner, asking what Doctor Clarkson had said. She was wringing her hands and biting her lip.

"He has had a bit of a turn..." I started, but then Richard came from Carson's room and he ushered her in. He followed her and closed the door. I don't know what has been said when they were in there and I didn't wait. I knew I wasn't wanted there anyway. I am not really wanted anywhere in Downton.

Carson recovered remarkably quickly and these days I think he might be warming up to Matthew. Probably because this whole business with Mary has been resolved. For someone who is trained not to show his feelings and is a prime example of how to tuck your heart away, Carson opens up to Mary very easily. He dotes on her for some reason. Mrs Hughes tightens her arms around herself when she sees it, like she is protecting herself.

When she leans over and talks to Anna in whispers and tender smiles, he locks his legs and looks away. I don't know why they do this, why they seem so pained. They don't hide it either, perhaps they don't know that they act like this themselves.

I was contemplating all of this in my quiet corner, nipping at a glass of champagne, hoping someone would sit down and chat with me and Mrs Hughes came sweeping towards me. She set down a plate of tiny hors d'oeuvres, gave me a kind smile and left for the hall. Carson followed her. I imagined it would be to discuss something work related - to me they are always 'all work, no play', but when I went out to powder my nose, I saw them almost hidden behind the palm by the stairs.

Her forehead rested on his chest, his arms were around her and he was talking to her. He didn't even bother being quiet. He called her by her name and used endearments. She looked up and I could see there were tear tracks on her cheeks. She stood on her toes and he lowered his head. Their kiss was so sweet.

I will never know what that was about and I will never be able to tell anyone what I saw. I am now part of their secret, even though they don't know. A lot of things make more sense now.

Like Mrs Hughes going up to his room and entering without knocking. Carson taking heavy trays from her. The pair of them standing just a little too close to be 'just colleagues'. The pair of them ending each other's sentences. How they always know where the other is.

I went back to the party, finished my champagne and found Matthew to tell him I was going home. There was no-one there to talk to me and I didn't want to push in. I have tried that and it didn't work. He was kind about it, asking me if I was alright. He walked with me to say goodbye to Cousin Cora and then into the hall, where Mrs Hughes went to fetch my wrap.

Carson called for Parfitt and I told Matthew to go back to Mary.

Mrs Hughes put my wrap around my shoulders and I couldn't help myself; I gave her my handkerchief. I didn't wait to see her face or to hear what she said, I walked through the door and waited for the car on the steps.

At least I have known love and was able to show it, whatever else may be wrong and unpleasant in my life right now. At least I have had that. My heart aches for Mrs Hughes, but I can't say anything. Do anything to change it. Downton and its inhabitants are set in their ways. The only thing that might change anything for her, will be Carson's retirement.

When that day comes, I will bring her a visit and tell her what I saw.

Lets hope it won't be long.

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**A/N:** That was Isobel. Turns out Charles and Elsie aren't as unnoticed as they think they are. Next up - if I ever manage to write it - Lady Violet!


	5. Violet

**A/N:** Sweeties, here is Lady Violet's POV. Quite the difficult chapter to tackle, please let me know what you think.  
Trigger warning: there is something really sad implied, if you'd rather not read about sadness in the building a family department, you might want to skip _the italics_.

They both stand by the sideboard, laying out napkins and cutlery and I see it so clearly I am surprised Robert has never asked me about it. I am even more surprised he didn't ever ask me about the fights I had with his father about it. Of course I know I was wrong and I knew it then, but it gave me a feeling of power to fight with Edward. I found it thrilling and exciting.

I didn't even mean it.

Like I didn't mean what I said to Carson at the ball. Who am I to deny a man his offspring? I must say I find it very silly he listened to me. I only said it because I had thought he would say it to Edward and that would have been an explosive fight.

Afterwards we would have made up. Of course. We always did. Explosively so.

It doesn't do to think of ones butler and housekeeper fighting and making up, but I see him speak to her and I see her stiffen as a reaction to his words. She purses her lips, obviously rather angry, but she focuses on the job at hand and then she just gets on with things. He pops more corks, sends out his footmen, all drilled like soldiers in His Majesty's army. More so, perhaps. Carson doesn't suffer sloppy work or less than the best. He suffers Thomas, only because he seems to have no choice and after all: Thomas is a good footman. Tall and efficient and I suppose he isn't bad looking.

Thomas steers himself towards Evelyn Napier's cousin, George. I don't want to see what they whisper about. Being able to close my eyes to the unsavory is a privilege I am very thankful for. Carson does see it and he goes after Thomas, but he passes Mrs Hughes first and he talks to her and she smiled at him, fleetingly. I could never forgive Edward as easily as Mrs Hughes forgives Carson time and again.

She scans the room, alert and handling everything with ease and quiet grace. She picks up a plate of hors d'oeuvres and brings it to Cousin Isobel, who is looking rather forlorn. I ought to go and speak to her, but I really don't feel like it. Parties are dreadful enough as it is. Maybe Cora will find it within herself to converse with the woman later. After putting down the plate, Mrs Hughes leaves for the hall and Carson follows her.

I don't think he cares who sees him and no-one cares that he leaves as soon as Mrs Hughes does. I can't believe that after all these years nobody has ever commented on how they are always in each other's company.

I vividly remember catching them in each other's arms, talking or kissing. At first they would spring apart and apologize, but after their marriage, they would just let go and went on their way. Edward used to say I shouldn't spy on them and he was right of course. Insufferable man.

He returns first, his own steady self and Mary beckons him and he goes to her immediately. The man dotes on the girl and I know she went to see him when he caught Spanish Flu. Robert gives his girls far too much leeway, he has spoiled them from the moment they were born, Mary especially and Sybil too. Edward always let Robert get too familiar with the staff too. Boundaries are getting even vaguer these days. Even I have asked O'Brien a favour or two. I am willing to change if necessary. Not for change's sake though. I have only just gotten used to using the telephone.

Mrs Hughes returns, she is putting away a handkerchief and runs the back of her hand across her cheek. She doesn't look very good, but I have seen her drawn before. When Carson collapsed when we were having dinner and that poor fellow Lang was serving at the table and one other time, when she and Carson had not been married for very long.

_She was helping out serving tea to me and some of my friends when she doubled over in a corner and made herself scarce. Someone came to take her place and we didn't see her for three or four days after that. The doctor was called but he told us she would be fine in a few days, that she needed some rest to recuperate._

_I have never asked her about it and she has never told me. But I am no fool. A sad thing to happen, but perhaps for the best._

I did try to be kinder towards her and to Carson especially after her episode. Things went back to normal and I really can't see how Cora would run her house without the pair of them. When all is said and done, the Carson's are the driving force behind the facade Cora puts up. Mrs Hughes has helped her with everything, showed her how to run a house, how to host a party, how to serve tea and host dinners. The girl would never have taken my word for it, even if she lived under our roof before she became a countess. An imported one at that.

It is time for me to leave. I hardly have to nudge and Carson comes my way to let me know the car is being pulled around and that O'Brien is waiting for me in the hall with my cloak. Mrs Hughes slides towards me, asking if there is anything I need.

There is a long, uncomfortable pause.

"No, thank you Mrs Cars-... Hughes." She looks me square in the face. Elsie Carson is not a coward, it has to be said. "I have all I need."

They walk me to the hall, O'Brian wraps me in my cloak and Carson opens the door and helps me into the car. He waits for the car to pull away and when I look around, I see her come out to him and she puts her arm around his waist. They turn around and get in together, closing the door behind them.

Sometimes I do wonder who the real owners of Downton are.

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**A/N:** So do I.  
I will be trying my hand at Anna next, but that is also going to be a little while. Thanks for reading!


	6. Anna

**A/N:** Final installment of 'Musings': Anna.  
Have your dentist on standby: unapologetic fluff! As always: please read and review, your input is very much appreciated and my heart skips a beat with every notification!

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He sits at the head of the table and she is on his right hand. We all have our place, according to our title. Mrs Hughes has managed to place John and me together: valet sits next to head housemaid. It is a kindness and one I appreciate very much. Since we have moved to the cottage, I miss seeing their morning rituals. How they greet each other, both being the first person they see in the morning, how he pours her tea and how she puts sugar in his. Their quiet chatter, not yet discussing the day, because that comes after breakfast in his pantry.

They are so solidly part of Downton, almost like they are the heart of the place, pumping blood to every part, making it run smoothly and efficiently, without any hiccup or stutter, that i cannot imagine the pair of them not being here. I know there will be a day Mr Carson will retire and it will be strange to have a new butler, a different butler, a stranger, confer with Mrs Hughes.

I don't think it would be right.

Mrs Hughes is the only one who scolds him and Mr Carson is the only one who snaps at her. They are so much at ease with each other, they feel free to let go of restraints. You see, her touch is never so tender as when she puts her hand on his and his voice is never so warm as when he compliments her. They complement each other, almost like two people who have been married for a long time.

I remember when Mr Carson collapsed and Mrs Hughes took over, her face was so pale, I thought she was going to faint until she saw Lady Sybil and Mrs Crawley taking care of him, she pulled herself together and had everything under control in a matter of seconds. When he caught Spanish Flu, she ran up and down the stairs, bringing him weak tea and Bath biscuits, made him take his medicines and the cinnamon in milk, as well as taking over all his tasks.

She is never ill. I have heard she has been taken sick once since she started working at Downton, that the doctor was called even, but in the fifteen years I have worked here, she hasn't as much as sniffled. Mr Carson brings her tea when the day is rough and they share the leftover wine from dinner - the perks of being butler and housekeeper, I suppose. His gentle care might be why Mrs Hughes stays so strong and steady and always solidly there for all of us.

The war has changed everything, nothing is like it was, but they managed to make Downton remain our home, to never stop giving us the feeling of security and safety. When I leave the warmth of the servants' hall in the evening and go to the cottage, I look around and I see how Mr Carson helps a new footman with the ways you address the people who come to stay and Mrs Hughes talking with Mrs Patmore and I almost feel sorry I have to go.

I love having my own place, a home of our own, where we are just the two of us, but it is taking some getting used to. Mrs Hughes warned me about it, saying it would be quiet in the beginning and that I had to learn to appreciate that. I find that John and I are slipping in the same routine as Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes: at night we sit by the fire and we drink tea and talk about our day and about tomorrow.. Sometimes John reads, I have mending to do - not much, thankfully, I am not fond of repairing tears and holes. I always let another maid do it.

No more sides to middle sheets for me, though. I know Mrs Hughes sleeps on sides to middle sheets and I know she hates it. She keeps those sheets far from Mr Carson's bed, which I have always found such a lovely thing for her to do. He makes the beds as tight as she does, though. His corners are as well done as hers. Sometimes I wonder if she has taught him how to do it, like she has taught every maid that ever stepped over the back door's threshold. Mr Carson's bed always looks like it hasn't been slept in, he pulls the covers under the foot of the bed so nothing could make it move.

At Downton there is a sense of teaching and learning and of family, somehow. We pull together, we stick up for the others, even Miss O'Brien felt pained by the hearing and being called for the prosecution. I remember how awful we all felt when William died and how we all lend a hand with Ethel. Charlie is getting so big, he is a really dapper little chap. Mrs Hughes dotes on him and when he thinks no-one is looking or listening, Mr Carson has whole one-sided conversations with him. One day I found Mrs Hughes standing by the door of Mr Carson's pantry and she put her finger to her lips to keep me from making a noise.

She pointed at the room and I heard Mr Carson playing with Charlie and I looked at her. I couldn't read her expression, there was a kind of fragile happiness and a sense of deep sorrow. She looked like she had to physically tear herself away from the pantry. When I talked to her about the request to polish the chandelier in the great hall, I don't think she really listened.

Lately, she has been paying more attention to what I do, asking how I feel. I find it rather sweet. I know how she feels about me, I know that she is afraid to step over the boundary and that she thinks she can't allow to put her feelings into words, but she isn't afraid to show it: the embrace when I tried to hand in my notice, her hand taking mine when we sat in the gallery for John's appeal, the soft squeeze in my shoulder when I tackle a new task, the kind smiles my way during dinner. When I look back, she gives Mr Carson glances that go with shy smiles and he sometimes takes her hand in his and gives her this fond look. Sometimes I start to wonder if they aren't secretly married after all.

Every time I knock on the door of her sitting room and ask if I can talk to her, I can see her hold her breath and she balls her hands into fists so tightly, her knuckles turn white. She sits up even straighter and when I tell her it is just a request from her Ladyship, or extra guests for dinner, I can see disappointment flash over her face.

Today there won't be disappointment. I am telling her. It won't be quiet in the cottage much longer. I'm a bit nervous. I have been contemplating getting the pair of them together, telling them together, like you would your parents, but I am not certain of Mr Carson's reaction, I am hoping she will stand by my side when i tell him, too.

She is in her sitting room now, pouring over the linen rota, it is Wednesday after all. I knock and push open the door.

"Do you have a moment, Mrs Hughes?"

* * *

**A/N**: I am not apologizing for the fluff, I am not apologizing for the baby Bates: I dreamt of this a few nights ago and it screamed to be written down. HA!

I am taking a little break from writing. Until a plotbunny hops my way: thank you so much for reading and reviewing, for favoriting and for following: you are all amazing and I love you.


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